by Elle Casey
I get up and walk over to the door, cracking it open. “I’m not interested in having dinner with those people.”
His handsome brown eyes look concerned. “Why not?”
I really want to slam the door in his face because he’s asking me dumb questions I’m not in the mood to answer, but I resist. “I think you know why.”
“I know you don’t want to have a relationship with them, but could you just come out anyway? For your moms’ and your sisters’ sake? You know . . . just be polite or whatever.”
I’m being guilt-tripped and lectured by the guy who threw things around and bashed up amplifiers in my sister’s apartment mere hours after he met her. “Polite? Are you kidding me? What’s polite about people showing up at my front door, thinking they can stay here without talking to me first?”
Sam glances down before answering. “Isn’t that what everybody does around here?”
“It’s not the same, Sam, and you know it.” I hate that he’s mostly right.
“I really don’t think they know how upset you are. I don’t think they came here trying to make you mad.”
“Amber knew.”
“Yeah, about that . . . I don’t know her very well, but I kind of get the impression that she’s not telling them everything. They’re really excited to meet you, actually.”
I feel myself start to soften, but I ignore my traitor heart. “Well, they can forget it, because I’m not excited about meeting them at all. In fact, I’d rather kiss the ass end of a warthog than meet them.”
Sam chuckles. “I think you’re being a little overly dramatic.”
I shut the door in his face. “Then I guess you won’t want to have dinner with me either, since I’m so overly dramatic.”
His fingers tap on the door. “Come on now, don’t get me wrong. I like the drama. It’s exciting. Why don’t you let me in there so I can take your clothes off? You’re getting me all excited with your spitfire attitude. I’ve never seen you like this, but I have to say, it’s pretty sexy.”
I’m trying really hard to stay mad at him, while my heart melts into goo. I know what he’s trying to do, but it’s not going to work. “Go away. I’m not getting naked with you.”
“Please. I really miss you. You’ve been gone all day.”
“No.” I regret my words as soon as they’re gone from my mouth, but I’m not taking them back. I’m not in the mood to have my ruffled feathers smoothed down.
“I wrote a new song. I’d love for you to hear it. I’m going to play it at dinner tonight.”
My heart leaps. I crack the door open. “You are not.”
He points at me. “Gotcha.”
I try to slam the door in his face, but he puts his foot in the way and blocks it. He reaches in with his arm and slides it around my waist, pressing the door open more and pulling me up against him. He kisses me right on the mouth and then glares at me. “Get your butt downstairs and come say hi to these people. They’re guests at the farm, and you’re supposed to be nice to them. And besides . . . I know you’ll regret not doing it. You’re a good girl and you love your family.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Those men are not my family.”
“I was talking about your sisters and moms, sassy girl.” He gives me a playful spank on the butt.
All I can think about is mutiny, saying no, and maybe even slapping his silly handsome face just for good measure, but then he kisses me again, softer this time. And then again and again. Pretty soon I’m mush in his arms.
“I don’t think they’re very nice people,” I finally say when he gives me a moment to speak.
“Maybe they’re not, but you’ll never know if you don’t go out and see for yourself.”
I frown in frustration. “Why is everybody trying to make me do things I don’t want to do?”
“Nobody’s going to make you do anything. But the people who love you are going to encourage you to do the right thing. Just like you do for me, just like you do for your sisters.”
“I’m feeling very manipulated right now.”
“Love can be a great manipulator at times, that’s for sure. But I’m not going to trick you into doing anything that’s wrong for you; you can trust me on that.”
His words ring so true, I cannot ignore them. He’s the only one who’s been willing to listen to me and actually talk to me about how I feel. He left me up here to work this out on my own, but now he’s here working through it with me, and I know it wasn’t easy for him to deal with all those people—the band, my mothers, my sisters, and Sadie—on his own.
We hold hands, our fingers lacing together, and I stare into his eyes. “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t know. Why do you care so much about me?”
“Don’t turn my question back on me; just answer it.”
He sighs and looks at me with such tenderness that it almost makes me weep. “I care about you because you’re special. You’re not like other women. Remember? You told me that the first time I met you.”
I can’t help but smile. He is so crafty. “I told you so.” I pause. “Did you talk to your brother?”
“Yes, I did.” He smiles.
“Are you going to tell me what you said? And what he said?”
“Maybe later.” He reaches around and smacks my butt again. “Come on. Brush your ratty hair and then come downstairs and say hello.”
“Hey. Don’t talk about my hair like that.” I reach up and touch my head, finding a big knot in the back. “Oh, damn.”
He pinches my cheek and walks away. “I’ll be waiting for you.” He goes down the stairs, and his footsteps trace across the living room floor to the front door before I lose track of the sound of them.
Sam is not the most outgoing person in the world, but he’s down there mingling with these people who are offering him a chance at a whole new life that will make it possible for him to raise Sadie without financial worries. It can’t be easy for him, all that pressure. And I’ve been up here feeling sorry for myself and leaving him to do it all on his own. I’m ashamed of myself, thinking of how stubborn and unbending I’ve been. I believe Sam’s impression of Amber . . . that she hasn’t been totally forthright with the band about my feelings. It would be just like her to try and trick all of us into having a conversation I’ve been avoiding.
I hate her and I love her for her actions. I know why she’s doing it; she thinks she’s helping me move past my anger. She’s doing this out of love for me. But it distresses me that she doesn’t respect me enough to listen to what I’m saying and do as I ask. She and I are going to have to have a conversation about that. The time has passed in our lives when she can do this to me. It was fine when we were girls, but we’re not kids anymore. I’m my own person, and it’s high time she respected that.
I don’t want to go down there and mingle with our guests, but I do want to be there for Sam. That’s what gets my feet moving toward the bathroom so I can brush my teeth and my hair. I even go back to my room and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a T-shirt. I’m not going to wear anything too nice . . . I’m not interested in showing off for anyone, but I don’t need to embarrass myself either.
I’m going to go out there and be myself—the real Emerald . . . shy and quiet, but determined to live her life on her own terms. I’ll show the members of Red Hot that they walked away from somebody pretty special when they let my mom leave without a word. It’s something they can never get back, and it’s sad, but it’s our reality, and I’m not going to hide from it anymore. I’m not going to be afraid of it any longer either. And I am not going to let it rule my feelings, thoughts, or emotions anymore. Watch out Red Hot, because here I come.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
The entire front yard is a hive of activity. Each of my moms squeals when they see me, running over to give me a group hug. Somebody must’ve told them to leave me alone when I was up in my room, because I can tell by this welcome that they were chomping at the bit to see me. It eases
some of the pain in my chest.
They look amazing, just like Amber said. They each have a new hairstyle, all of them way more modern and attractive than what I’ve seen the whole time I’ve known them. Sally has even gotten rid of her braids, her hair so short now that there’s no chance of flyaway frizzies framing her face. I kind of miss her lost and confused look, actually. She’s still my mom, but then again, she’s kind of not anymore; she’s a sophisticated woman, very alive and animated, talking nonstop about their trip and the music. I can’t get a word in edgewise. They’re wearing new clothing, too; my mother Carol even has high heels on, which is a first as far as I can remember.
Several of the guests who are seasonal regulars are busy carrying platters of food out the front door. Rather than get caught up in greeting everyone else who got off the circus bus, I detach myself from the moms and walk back to the house and into the kitchen.
“Can I help?” I ask a man who’s turned away from me.
He spins around, and I find myself face-to-face with Greg Lister. I’m taken aback. What’s he doing here?
He points at the table in the middle of the room. “I think those dishes need to be taken outside.”
The last time I saw him, he was wearing a three-piece suit and driving a really fancy car, but today he’s in jeans and a collared shirt. I almost don’t recognize him. I walk past him, weirded out by his total change, grabbing the biggest casserole I can lift and taking it out without a word. It seems that nothing is the same anymore, not even the stuffed shirt.
Smitty comes to the door and smiles at me as I pass by. “Hello, Sleeping Beauty. You finally decided to join us, eh?”
Okay . . . so some things haven’t changed. Smitty is still underfoot and nosy. I pause to whisper loudly at him, “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been hanging out here since I was five, remember?” He shakes his head. “You have such a terrible memory.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re impossible.”
He acts like he’s trying to get around me but is trapped, jogging left and then right with big arm motions. I stand still and wait for him to stop being a fool, until he finally gives up and laughs, going around me. “Don’t trip on the stairs.”
I swear to God that guy is a curse. I never should’ve gone out with him. He’s like an annoying older brother, not dating material. Our one night in bed together was proof of that—a mistake I have worked for a couple years to forget without much success. I walk very carefully, almost worried that he’s put some kind of voodoo curse on me that’ll cause me to do a face-plant right in front of everybody. That would be just the icing I need on my cake for today.
There are five or six picnic tables all pushed together and covered in a motley mix of tablecloths. There’s already a lot of food out here and much more coming from the kitchen. I don’t know who put this thing together on such short notice, but it’s a heck of a feast. There’s a separate table with beverages and a cake. Somebody in a leather jacket is working the pump on a keg. I recognize him as the bass player in the band. I look away. I don’t want to see any of those men, and they’re so busy chatting among themselves they don’t even notice me.
I put the casserole down on the table and turn around to go back in the kitchen. I feel someone’s hand on my back and look over my shoulder, fearing who I’ll find there. But it’s Rose, and she grabs me into a quick hug. Relief floods through me.
“I’m so glad you came down,” she says next to my ear.
“Yeah, sure.”
She stops and looks closely at me, touching my cheek. “You’re not happy about it, but you’re here. That’s what’s important.”
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Shouldn’t you be hiding in your clinic?”
She gives me a disapproving look. “Neither one of us needs to do any hiding; you know that.” She links her arm with mine and marches us back up the stairs. “Come on, let’s bring more stuff out.”
Thankfully, we don’t have the time or the personal space to discuss it; I’m not in the mood to dredge up the conversations I’ve been having in my head. I just want this night to be over with. We spend the next ten minutes clearing out the kitchen and setting up the tables outside. Everyone but us five food runners is standing around in groups, waiting for the work to be finished. The band members are part of those groups, of course—the crown princes of Asshat Nation, too good to do manual labor. For men who claim to want to get to know me, they’re doing an awful good job of acting like they couldn’t care less about my presence.
All three of our mothers are also a part of the do-nothing group. Apparently, their two weeks in Japan have not only caused them to forget our community spirit, it also seems to have fanned the flames of their shared passion. Seeing the way they’re hanging on the band members, it’s easy to imagine that they were intimate again while on tour together—groupie love 2.0.
The mean-spirited part of me thinks it’s sad, how easy they are . . . how easy it is for them to forget the past as long as Red Hot is there whispering nonsense in their ears. But then the part of me that isn’t so mean, the part who loves my moms with all her heart, is glad to see them so happy. They deserve that. I just wish it wasn’t those turds making it happen for them.
“If everybody could grab a drink and take a seat, that would be great,” Amber yells out.
The crowd moves to follow her instructions, some of them headed for a seat at the tables and others to the beverage area. I make sure to choose a spot as far away from the band members and Lister as possible. They’re gathered on the far left end and I’m at the right. Sam is next to me and Sadie next to him. Rose is on my other side.
Amber chooses a seat across the table from us but doesn’t look at me. I think she’s avoiding eye contact, so I stare, willing her to look at me . . . willing her to explain herself. I know this is her doing, this big meal being served up family style, where everyone pretends everything is hunky-dory. She might think she’s created a Thanksgiving-type feast, but it feels more like a Last Supper to me.
Ignoring me completely, Amber stands behind her chair and grabs her drink, banging on it with her fork. Everyone pipes down and looks at her.
“I just want to thank everybody for coming tonight. We put this thing together at the last minute, but it looks like it turned out pretty well anyway. Thanks to all of our cooks.” She lifts her drink at several of the guests who apparently helped make the food. Everybody cheers except me.
“I want to issue a very special welcome to the members of Red Hot, my moms’ favorite band from waaaay back in the day.”
More cheers go up, but none of them are coming from me or Rose this time. I love the sister solidarity, especially because I thought it had gone forever.
“I’d also like to especially welcome Sam and Sadie.” She looks directly at them and then at me. Then she lifts her eyes to the group. “Sam is going to be doing some really exciting work with the band, and we’re thrilled he’s found a nice, tranquil place to do his thing. Welcome to Glenhollow Farms.”
She raises her drink to Sam, and he returns the gesture. He glances at me and puts his hand on my thigh, squeezing it a couple times before he takes a sip of his beer. I grudgingly lift my glass and do the same.
“I want to invite everybody to dig in, and then, after dinner, we have a really special surprise.” She looks out over the group of diners before resting her gaze on Sam. “Sam has agreed to play a new song for us. Something he just finished writing today.”
I nearly drop my glass, I’m so surprised. Sam lifts his beer at Amber and then at the band.
“You weren’t joking?” I ask softly.
He shakes his head. “I told you. Now’s your chance to give me my two hundred bucks.”
“What do you mean?” I hiss. “This isn’t the farmers’ market!”
“I play a song, you draw a picture. A deal’s a deal.” He winks at me.
“What?” Bamboozled. I’ve been totally bamboozled. An
d Amber’s in on it too, I know she is. She’s purposely avoiding eye contact with me, but I know she hears what he’s saying.
Sadie leans over and taps me on the arm. “Are you going to draw a picture?”
I want to say no, but she looks so excited, I force myself to smile. “Maybe?”
She grins big. “I want to make a picture too. Can I draw a picture with you?”
How can I say no to that? I look at Sam, but he’s shrugging. I don’t think he had anything to do with this part of the ambush. “Sure, Sadie,” I say, my heart shrinking down to the size of a raisin. “You can draw a picture with me.” In front of all these people. In front of them.
For the rest of the meal, I panic about exposing my innermost self to this huge group of strangers—not the least of whom are the daughter abandoners—while Sadie prattles on about what her picture will contain. By the time dessert comes, a warm apple cobbler served with vanilla ice cream, we know that her picture will include all of the animals on the farm and several of the people as well. I’m not sure I have a big enough piece of paper for her.
“You ready to rock ’n’ roll?” Sam asks, squeezing my thigh as he pushes his empty dessert plate away.
I elbow him in the ribs.
He jumps in surprise. “Yowza, watch the elbows, lady.” He’s rubbing his side as he smiles deviously at me. “What’s the matter? You nervous?”
I busy myself with folding my napkin and organizing the dirty dishes around me as I prepare myself to fight back. I feel like I’m going to vomit. “Nervous? Ha! You’d better have your game face on, butthead. I’m going to draw a kick-ass picture, no problem, but when you get up there in the limelight, you’re gonna freeze and not be able to sing your song, and then what are you gonna do? Pay me two hundred bucks, that’s what.”
I expect him to trash-talk me back, but nothing comes. I look at him and find stark fear on his face.
My heart plummets. I am a complete jackass, letting my nerves turn me into a spiteful witch. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I was only kidding. You’re going to be fine.”
He shakes his head and forces a smile. “What? Yeah. It’s fine. I’m cool. I’m totally going to win this bet.” He does not sound confident at all.
